


12.01: Codas

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 12, Torturer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: A little collections of codas I've written for the season twelve premiere.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got a little out of hand writing stuff after the episode aired, so I'm just gonna pile them all into one little fic. That doesn't mean they're necessarily related, because there are a couple things I overlap that don't line up- they're just little bits and pieces that came to mind. I might add to this a little more in the next couple days, but we'll see.

“Sammy,” someone whispers, and Sam tries to open his eyes. He does, really, but he’s- he’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. “Sammy, hey, hey- c'mon. I know you’re there, kiddo. Open your eyes for me?”

Except that the voice sounds kind of familiar, the same way that Sam knows the feeling of air in his lungs or sun on his skin. And the touch- the touch feels familiar, too. Through the pain that still radiates through his body, between the seared flesh and electrical burns and the cut he’d inflicted on himself, it’s- it’s been a long day. But someone’s fingers are pushing through his hair, getting it out of his face, and it feels alright. “Sammy? Please.”

It’s hard to say no when they’re being so nice about it.

Sam’s eyes open to the same dark room he remembers passing out in, but it’s different, he thinks. Toni is nowhere to be seen, and instead he- he sees his brother. Dean’s there, a little beat up but pretty much in one piece, and he’s the one who’s touching Sam, fingertips brushing along his cheekbone now as a relieved half-smile grows on his face.

“Yeah, there you are,” Dean whispers, except that Sam’s pretty sure his big brother is dead. “There you are, kiddo. Still kickin’, huh?”

Sam’s voice is too far away for him to reach right now, but it seems that Dean isn’t waiting for a response, regardless. He glaces up, somewhere over Sam’s head, but doesn’t pull away. “You think you can clean him up, Cas?”

And then there’s that second familiar presence that gets closer, a flash of a trenchcoat in the corner of Sam’s eye where he doesn’t want to turn away from Dean. The other visions have been so horrifying, and he doesn’t know how long this one will last. “Sam, you- you’re awake.”

A quiet moment passes, and then cool, dry fingertips brush over Sam’s forehead. His eyes flutter shut on instinct and all at once, something soft and warm moves through his body, lifting the haze of pain for the first time in what feels like years. He exhales as he opens his eyes again, confused and lost- none of the other visions were like this, and never once did the pain stop- but Dean’s still there, smiling the way he did back when Sam broke his arm as a kid.

“There you go,” Dean mumbles, and his fingers are in Sam’s hair again and Sam wonders if he knows how nice it feels. “All better, yeah? You’re good. You’re gonna be just fine, okay?”

Sam doesn’t know anything for sure anymore, but his big brother’s always known best, so he nods a little bit and doesn’t resists when Dean helps to get him to his feet. He braces himself for the pain in his foot but it feels undamaged and whole when he shifts his weight there, and he thinks he might cry with relief.

There are fifteen steps up the stairs to the door- Sam’s counted them a hundred times by now- but Dean hesitates before taking the first one.

“There, uh…” He’s got his arm around Sam’s middle, holding up all his weight, and Sam looks at him, blinking slow and soft with confusion. Doesn’t know how long this is going to last, really, but he’s willing to see it through if it means a few minutes of pretend happiness. “There’s someone you’re about to meet, okay? And- and she’s real. I promise.”

Sam doesn’t much think any of this is real, but he allows himself to be walked up the stairs, regardless. Castiel follows close behind them, and the door’s already open at the top of the way.

He might be expecting a lot of things right then, but the absolute last one on the list is his mother, dressed in his brother’s clothing and bloodied and freezing where she stands when they make eye contact.

It doesn’t feel so much like a vision anymore, and Sam’s lips part with shock, stumbling against Dean as his brother tries to hold him up.

“Mom?”

Suddenly, everything feels a little bit safer, and when she wraps her arms around him with Dean holding him up, he thinks that maybe this might be real.

Maybe it’s over after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some gentle brother cuddles. Sam deserves a nap.

They don’t talk much on the way home. Sam seems out of it and there’s not a whole lot to say- fuck; there’s lots to say, it’s just that no one has the right words to say it. Castiel sits in the back with Sam and Mary’s riding shotgun again, and Dean’s got his eyes on the rearview mirror and his little brother more than the road ahead, but maybe Chuck’s keeping an eye on them after all because they all make it back to the bunker in one piece.

Things are messy. They’re a fucking mess; there’s no telling what kind of enemies they’ve just made themselves, but Dean doesn’t care. Dean can’t make himself give one iota of a fuck about who he’s just pissed off or whose blood is on his hands, because he’s got Sammy home, if a little worse for wear, and that’s always brick number one. That’s where everything else begins, because there’s nothing else that matters enough to have without his brother safe and sound.

Mom hangs back and Dean figures she still feels a little bit out of place, and meeting her infant son as an injured giant probably isn’t helping a whole lot. He leaves Cas to show her around a little more ‘cause Sam needs him right now, and by the time he’s managed to get both of them to his bedroom (can’t go to Sammy’s room, 'cause the devil slept there once and it isn’t safe anymore), he thinks that maybe he needs this a little bit, too.

“Dean,” Sam says, for probably the dozenth time since they rescued him, all soft and awed like he’s seeing God for the first time. Dean sets his brother down on his bed and doesn’t go too far 'cause Sam’s fingers are all tangled up in his shirt. Doesn’t want to let him go. “Dean, you…”

“Yeah,” Dean tells him. There isn’t a whole lot else he can say. “Yeah. Hey, kiddo.”

The bandages aren’t far and Sam doesn’t move, and soon enough Dean’s working him over, slow and careful. Cleans up the burns that dot his brother’s body after getting him out of his ruined shirt and then rewraps his damaged foot, trying real hard to ignore the tightness in his chest that makes him wish he’d kept the bitch alive a little longer. Alastair still sits somewhere in the back of his throat and itches to get out right now more than ever. Dean shoves it down and focuses on healing, 'cause that’s what Sam needs right now, and what Sam needs is all that matters.

Sam stays quiet through the whole thing, just watching him. Touching him, sometimes, shaky fingertips at Dean’s neck or in his hair, like he’s trying to convince himself this is real, and once- just once- Dean catches his hand and meets his eyes and just. Squeezes. Real gentle. Holds the look until Sam blinks at him and then it’s back to work again, tender movements to make sure he’s done everything he can to put his brother back together.

By the time Dean’s done and looks back up at Sam, the kid looks like he’s halfway to passing out. Eyelids must be pretty heavy, 'cause he can’t seem to keep them up all by himself, so Dean makes the call and nudges him back into the bed, urging him to lie down. Ignores the half-mumbled protests and takes the time to get Sam good and wrapped up, all tucked into bed like he’s five years old again with the flu and won’t listen to anyone 'cept Dean.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, gentler than it sounded in his head. Can’t help it when his baby brother looks like this. Settles himself on the edge of the bed for a moment, hesitating. “Just- take it easy, okay? We’ll talk and whatever when you wake up.”

He goes to move, but Sam’s hand catches his wrist and holds on tight, contrary to his exhaustion. Dean looks down and meets something that’s a little determined and lot scared, and his heart cracks in his chest.

“Can you?” Sam asks quietly, and he doesn’t need to explain any further before Dean caves, already moving to lie down beside him.

They haven’t done this for a long time, but it’s easy as breathing to gather Sam up in his arms, fully clothed, and let his brother’s head rest against his chest. Damn everything else; Sammy sleeps best when Dean’s got his fingers in his hair and that’s what’s important, 'cause the kid needs his rest and if this is what he needs to get there, then nothing else matters right now. There are a million other things to worry about on the far side of his bedroom door, but within these four walls, it’s just him and his little brother and trying to heal.

They’ve got lots of practice when it comes to healing.

“Sleep,” Dean mumbles into Sam’s hair, and his brother’s already going a little looser. Soft. “M'not goin’ anywhere.”

Sam falls asleep like that, no real space in between them, and Dean closes his eyes, too. Listens to the distant sounds of movement and machinery and thinks that this is okay, for now. As long as Sam’s safe, this is okay.

Everything else will have its time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's always been good at keeping his promises.

He sends Castiel and Mary to the car with Sam because his brother’s unconscious and it’ll take the both of them to get him there, and he pretends not to see the worry on the angel’s face as they leave him alone with the woman they’d found here. Dean hasn’t had a chance to catch her name, and he doesn’t have it in him to care about it since she’ll be dead in less than fifteen minutes.

They all know that leaving her alive isn’t an option, but Dean’s not sure everyone’s quite on the same page he is about how far that goes.

“Hey. Bitch.” She’s unconscious, so Dean slaps her across the face and watches her eyes fly open, wide and panicked when she realizes he’s tied her down the way she’d tied his brother. Lets her struggle for a moment before speaking again, low and icy. “Remember me?”

Not that they’ve met before, but she must recognize his voice from the phone or his face from their files because her eyes narrow and she sits up a little straighter. The whole image doesn’t fit well with the red handprint appearing on her cheek. “Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Dean turns his back because rule one is to always play with your food, and he wanders over to the little table he’d found. Knives, syringes. A blowtorch. A cattle prod. It’s not the sort of selection he used to have in Hell, but it’ll be enough for the timeframe he’s given himself, all the same. “You remember what I told you last time we talked?”

She stays quiet while Dean inspects his tools. Takes a moment to think about how much blood there is in the average human body and makes a face. This needs to be quick or else Cas and his mother will get worried. This isn’t something he wants either of them to see. “What, your threats?” she replies, and there’s a whole lot of posturing in his voice that stinks of fear. Dean lets himself smile, small and empty, and takes a curved little knife with him back over to her chair. Might as well have some fun.

“Wasn’t a threat, bitch.” She gets tense when Dean gets close and he doesn’t let up; sets one hand on the back of her chair and leans in close until they’re breathing the same air. Her hair’s started to come out of its tight braid and when Dean’s this close, he can hear her heartbeat. Quick like a scared rabbit. Like prey. “See, where I come from- where I’ve been- we call that a promise.”

It’s been eight years since Dean got to let loose like this, and he gives himself twelve minutes before he needs to return to his family.

By the eighth, she can’t scream anymore, and by the eleventh, she can’t see, either.

No one asks why Dean’s clothes are soaked in someone else’s blood, or why he takes the knife with him. His attention shifts to his brother, and the little keepsake takes its place in the glove compartment.

As long as it’s been since he spent time in Hell, Dean thinks it never really left him behind. In moments like this, he’s just a little bit thankful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is more like Mary than either of them really care to admit.

After dying so early in her little angel’s life, the last thing Mary expects is for him to have ended up just like her.

She sees John in the way he dresses and the car he drives. The way he holds himself, even; smiles and big movements and the swagger with which he walks. John’s music is in the car and John’s scent- all leather and motor oil and gunpowder she doesn’t recognize- permeate the upholstery.

But Dean is… Dean isn’t John.

Dean is softer, she thinks. It’s there in the way he calls for her, the way he holds her when they hug for the first time. How he gives her his jacket and keeps one hand on her like she’ll vanish if he looks away; the way he smiles and looks away and the pride with which he shows her the Impala. There’s something gentle in his eyes that Mary recognizes in herself, and remembers from the days of bottle-feeding the little boy who stands before her now, fully grown, and it aches something fierce.

They’ve only just met, really, and there’s still so much she has to learn about Dean- about Sammy, too; about both her little boys who aren’t really very little at all anymore- but she sees a piece of herself when she looks into his eyes and it sits tight and heavy in her chest, something like pride and something like she’s going to start crying.

He’s a total stranger and she loves him so, so much. She just wants to understand why.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _my-pen-is-my-sword said: GIVE ME ALL OF THE HURT/COMFORT!! Can you write something with Sam and Mary? Like maybe going back to the bunker and she has his head in her lap or something? (Anything I just want Sam to get love from his mother I'm a mess don't look at me)._

It’d taken a lot of convincing to get Dean to go rest, but he’s been watching over his brother for hours and his exhaustion was clear in every movement he made. Even now, he’s just dropped off to sleep right beside Sam, but it’s something, and for now, Mary expects that she can’t ask for anything more.

Now, though, she doesn’t feel capable of much anything at all besides staring at her youngest son.

Sam looks like he’s at peace, finally; still battered and bruised, but getting the rest he so sorely needs in order to start healing. His lips are parted, and his eyelashes flutter gently, and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Mary finds herself reaching out and gently, delicately brushing his hair out of his face, and thinks absently that he probably needs a good, long shower once he’s up for it.

It’s hard to reconcile the man sleeping in front of her with the baby she left behind more than thirty years ago, but something warm and tight in her chest puts the images together and tells her to keep him safe. She looks at the pink at the backs of his eyelids and the way his fingers curls into the blankets of his brother’s bed, and she breathes out slow, one hand moving to find where his heart beats slow and steady in his chest.

She doesn’t know where to begin with all sorts of things, in the future. With her grown-up boys and technology and angels and demons and hunting. Doesn’t know what to think or feel about a lot of it, because it’s too much to process in the chaotic whirlwind of the last couple days.

But this is- this is her family. These are her boys, safe and sound under one roof, even if they aren’t quite the way she remembers them. This is where she can start, because this is what she knows- being a mother is what she knows. Taking care of her babies is what she knows.

Everything else can come a little later.


	6. Chapter 6

They haven’t shared a bath since they were children, small enough to cram their arms and legs and little bodies all into the same tub long enough to get cleaned up, and Dean thinks that this is maybe a little bit similar, too. Sam’s the only one in the bath, now, and it’s the oversized, fancy thing in one of the bunker’s bathrooms, and he’s still shivering a little bit despite the hot water he’s settled in, but-

-but it’s almost the same.

He’s cut up pretty bad all over, but the worst of it is his foot and it’s resting on the edge of the tub, away from the water and slathered in a combination of industrial-grade burn cream and an old herb-based salve that their mother still swears by, promising it’s an old Campbell recipe, and seeing how the last one of those they got their hands on cured vampirism, no questions asked, Dean’s ready to give it a shot. Sam’s quiet, too, though; mumbles something that sounds like “screw you” a couple times, but his eyes are foggy and distant and Dean knows that the words aren’t meant for him.

It was a clean rescue, all things considered. The bitch was light-years out of her league and Dean hadn’t hesitated to drop her, only regretting in hindsight that it went so quickly after finding the state in which she’d left his little brother. Sam hadn’t even seemed to really recognize him at first, and once Mary stepped in behind him-

Well, Dean doesn’t know exactly what happened, yet, but he’s got an active imagination and a lot of experience with twisted people.

“Almost done, little brother,” he murmurs, because the water’s tinged pink and so is the bubbly run-off from the soap, and all that’s left is to wash Sam’s hair before Dean can bundle him up good and proper and put him to bed. “Just a little longer.”

It’s far from the first time that Dean’s washed Sam’s hair for him but it’s never felt quite this intimate as he sits himself on the edge of the tub and urges Sam to close his eyes (tries real hard not to think about the last time he said those words) and pours a cup of warm water over his head. Doesn’t think Sam’s up for dunking himself right now and he gets a slow, full-body shudder in response, but Sam stays mostly still and that’s all Dean really needs to continue.

Part of him wants to make a comment about the soft, herbal scent of Sam’s shampoo, but it’s oddly soothing to his nose and he stays quiet about it for now as if he won’t be sneaking little whiffs of it later. He lathers up his hands and then starts working his fingers into his brother’s hair, massaging his scalp and being slow and meticulous about covering everything from roots to tips.

Sam mumbles something incoherent and Dean smiles a little when he catches the way his brother’s face has gone a little slack. This has always been a weak point for him and this seems as good a time to take advantage of it as any; the kid needs to unwind and if that means Dean’s going to spend the next several minutes with his fingers in Sam’s hair, then he thinks he can live with that. It’s a slow going, but a peaceful one, just the sound of Dean shifting in place and their combined breathing to break the easy silence.

The bubbles rinse out easy, and last to go is Sam’s conditioner- Dean’s always settled for a two-in-one, but the last thing he wants right now is to cut corners on Sam’s comfort. It’s smooth and smells even better than the shampoo did, and Dean takes extra time to rinse everything clean, lingering for several minutes more to work his fingertips against Sam’s scalp again. Just ‘cause.

“You ready for bed, Sammy?” Dean asks and he’s eight years old again, chasing after his baby brother and making sure he’s good and taken care of. Sam blinks up at him all sleepy-like and Dean smiles. “Yeah, thought so. C'mere, you giant.”

It’s a bit of a feat to get Sam out of the tub, but Dean wraps his brother up in the biggest, fluffiest towel they own and helps him limp back to his bedroom, somewhere that’s still safe even after Lucifer’s visit. Safety is what matters right now, for Sam.

Dean dresses Sam up in a pair of cotton-soft pyjama pants and then takes a moment to towel the rest of him dry, spending a little extra time on his hair and finger-combing it into submission. Sam’s half-asleep by the time he’s satisfied and Dean doesn’t waste another moment before gently nudging him under the covers and bundling him up, warm and comfy.

“There you go,” he murmurs, crouched beside the bed so he’s on eye-level with his brother. Not that Sam’s eyes are really open anymore to see. “Try to get four or five, yeah? Maybe ten if you can manage it.”

“Don’t go,” Sam whispers, and it’s the first thing he’s said since “screw you,” so who is Dean to try to refuse?

He just nods, drags a chair over until he’s as close to Sam as he can get, settling in for the long haul. Only pauses a moment before reaching out and letting their fingers tangle together, loose and easy.

“Sleep,” he says again, real soft. Sam’s eyes are closed for real now, and Dean just watches him. “Take it easy. You’ve earned it.”

Sam doesn’t reply, and within a few minutes his breathing has evened out, the entirety of his body curled towards Dean on the mattress.

Dean watches his little brother sleep until his own eyelids get too heavy, at which point he breathes out slow and lets them slip shut. Just a few minutes, maybe.

Mary and Castiel find the two of them sound asleep, still holding hands in the depths of their unconsciousness and seemingly at peace. They decide without saying a word that it’s best to leave the brothers undisturbed.

They’ve earned a moment of rest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's big brother would never let him give up.

Sam’s throat still feels raw, between the shouting he’s done and the nasty cold he thinks he’s catching after the extended time until the cold water. The rest of him isn’t much better off; like he’s slowly breaking apart at the seams now that he’s been left alone again. He’s still berating himself for fucking up his chance at freedom, fingernails bloody and ruined after scrabbling at the closed door, and everything feels a little bit empty.

He doesn’t know why he still bothers. Why he didn’t kill himself for real, if only as one last “screw you” to Toni and her entire organization. It’s not like there’s anything waiting for him on the other side of that door besides the ever-mounting realization that his brother is well and truly gone. He doesn’t have a damn clue as to why he’s still clinging to life and to defiance, because there’s nothing left for him anymore.

Except that- except.

Except that there’s still Dean’s voice, curled tight and warm somewhere in the back of his head. Not the one from his hallucinations; there’s a certain shimmer to the lies whispered in his ears that have an edge his brother never did. The real Dean, though- his Dean is there, too. Maybe just another hallucination all his own, but no quieter and no less real than his flesh-and-blood family has ever been, and.

And Dean would never let him stop fighting.

So Sam curls up at the bottom of the stairs, folded in on himself and trying his best not to aggravate his injuries, and he rests his head against the railing. There’s no telling how long he’ll be by himself before that door opens again with a new nightmare for him to endure, and he knows that if he’s going to stand a chance, he needs to get some rest.

He closes his eyes and sees Dean in the darkness there, half a grin and an easy shrug. “You got this, kid.”

Sam doesn’t know when he starts to hum, whisper-soft and off-key in this dark room with his wrecked voice, but it’s Dean’s favourite songs that he traces out in those little vibrations. Thinks about hours in the Impala listening to the same tapes and memorizing every lyric and every note, and thinks about times being better.

Thinks about staying strong and alive and brave for his big brother, ‘cause Dean wouldn’t want it any other way.

He falls asleep like there are calloused fingers in his hair and a warm body beside his. There’s no telling what’s left to come, but he knows he isn’t really alone.

He doesn’t think he could ever be.


End file.
